


This Is The Story Of The Writer Of The Story Of

by KingOfHearts709



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: The end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfHearts709/pseuds/KingOfHearts709
Summary: the end is never loading





	

**Author's Note:**

> I believe the Writer has far less business now to attend to.

“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”  
This is also the story of a voice named The Narrator.  
Stanley’s job, all day, every day, was to follow, or not follow instructions, given a limited amount of choices.  
The Narrator’s job, all day, every day, was to commentate on Stanley’s every action, and manipulate him into choosing from a variety of endings.  
As an ending was chosen, the game would begin again, in a new light.

 

This is the story of a mind named The Writer.  
The Writer’s job, all day, every day, was to add additional information to each action taken by either Stanley or The Narrator.  
As an ending was chosen, the game would begin again, with new information.

 

“All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room. Perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”  
Stanley contemplated the choice he had. A window was set to his left, a door to his right that he could endlessly touch until the Narrator would become obsessed with that ending. The window would be difficult. Stanley decided to do what the Narrator said.

 

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”  
Stanley pondered the choice for a moment. The left door could certainly hold possibilities for what the Narrator wanted to accomplish, and seeing as this was only Stanley’s first time through, he decided to do what the Narrator said.

 

“Yet, there was not a single person here either. Feeling a wave of disbelief, Stanley decided to go up to his boss’ office, hoping he might find an answer there.”  
Stanley thought about the consequences that would ensue if he didn’t move from his place. He thought about how angry his boss would be had he been caught leaving his office. Stanley decided to do what the Narrator said.

 

“Coming to a staircase, Stanley walked upstairs to his boss’ office.”  
As Stanley climbed the many stairs to his boss’ office, he wondered what lay in store for him there. Perhaps his co-workers, perhaps just his boss, or perhaps no one. He decided to follow the Narrator’s instructions questioningly.

 

“Stepping into his manager’s office, Stanley was once again stunned to discover not an indication of any human life. Shocked, unravelled, Stanley wondered in disbelief who orchestrated this. What dark secret was being held from him? What he could not have known was the keypad behind the boss’ desk guarded the terrible truth that his boss had been keeping from him. And so the boss had assigned it an extra secret pin number: 2845. But of course, Stanley couldn’t possibly have known this.”  
As Stanley wandered about the office, he wondered what the keypad was for. He waited until he heard a series of numbers. Not bothering to consult his logic, he inputted the correct code, following the Narrator’s vague yet terribly blatant instructions.

 

“Yet incredibly, by simply pushing random buttons on the keypad, Stanley happened to input the correct code by sheer luck. Amazing. He stepped into the newly opened passageway.”

 

As Stanley sat though a monologue, he considered the possibility that if he had a chance, then nothing would be happening. He decided to go to the music shop.  
No. Wait, I’m getting off track. Stanley is still following his instructions, right?

 

“As Stanley came to a set of two open doors...”  
No, no, no, I’ve got it all backwards. We have to start from the beginning again.

 

“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”  
This is also the story of a voice named The Narrator.  
Stanley’s job, all day, every day, was to follow, or not follow instructions, given a limited amount of choices.  
The Narrator’s job, all day, every day, was to commentate on Stanley’s every action, and manipulate him into choosing from a variety of endings.  
As an ending was chosen, the game would begin again, in a new light.

 

This is the story of a mind named The Writer.  
The Writer’s job, all day, every day, was to add additional information to each action taken by either Stanley or The Narrator.  
As an ending was chosen, the game would begin again, with new information.

 

“All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room. Perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”  
Stanley could easily follow these instructions. He had already once before. He vacantly touched a few items on his linear pathway.

 

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”  
Stanley willingly followed the instructions given to him, wanting to make his way back to where he had been before. After a sudden inherent interruption, he was eager to get back to business.

 

“Yet there was not a single person here either. It’s unsurprising considering that he’s already seen this room once before. Stanley had to move quickly to advance himself to the next section of the story.”  
Despite the strange commentary of the Narrator, Stanley followed orders, hoping to make it to his boss’ office that the Narrator failed to mention for the sake of time, which quite bothers me.

 

“Up.”  
Stanley did as the word said and ran as fast as he could upstairs where he knew his boss would have to be. No matter how vague the Narrator chose to be, I encourage him to entertain the fact that he only exists on my terms.

 

“2845, Stanley. Quickly, so we may get to where you were before.”  
This is becoming quite a nuisance. I only started the writing over once, and you’re already irritated that you haven’t made it to the elevator yet. Please from now on, just read from your proper script.

 

“Stanley stepped into the newly opened passageway. Again.”  
You irritate me, you know that? I would love a good wholesome story without you going off on me passive-aggressively. Can’t you just accept the fact that I got off track simply once? Once?

 

“Stanley walked straight ahead through the large door that read Mind Control Facility.”  
Thankfully, Stanley was far too curious to even bother with the ‘Escape’ route to his left. He stepped towards the large entrance to what may very well hold his destiny of freedom or death.

 

“The lights rose on an enormous room packed with television screens. ‘What horrible secret did this place hold?’ Stanley thought to himself. Did he have the strength to find out?”  
Stanley briefly wondered if he did. He wondered if he’d ever have strength at all. It was as if he felt in control again. He felt courage on his own terms, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He gently flung his legs over the railing and fell into a meadow.  
Um...  
That didn’t happen. Ignore that. Please. Let me just get back here.

 

“Stanley was amazed at the world around him. Lush green grass underneath his hands, blue sky above him. He could feel the wind in his hair, and he didn’t know the last time he’d ever felt this free. It was...perfect.”  
No! No, no, no, don’t you dare narrate off my mistake, okay? That’s not even written down on something you can say! How are you acting on your own?

 

“Stanley ran through the meadows like a wild animal. In the distance, he saw a city. A wonderfully big city that was bound to hold buttons galore. And oh, was Stanley excited.”  
Narrator! I am not going to let you narrate any further than this! I’m starting this over again.

 

“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”  
This is also the story of a voice named The Narrator.  
Stanley’s job, all day, every day, was to follow, or not follow instructions, given a limited amount of choices.  
The Narrator’s job, all day, every day, was to commentate on Stanley’s every action, and manipulate him into choosing from a variety of endings.  
As an ending was chosen, the game would begin again, in a new light.

 

“This is the story of the frankly irritating ways of a mind called the Writer.”  
What? What’ve you done?

 

“The Writer was a strange sort of thing. It could conjure up any world. Where Stanley is a mortal, I, the Narrator, am like a worshipper. And the Writer, it is God.”  
What is it with you right now? Give me back my story, this is my story! Why can’t you just let me write my story?

 

“One day, in a fit of writing, the Writer came across a peculiar problem. It couldn’t write the story properly. It tried once and failed, and then tried again. It lost control of its characters, and proceeded to complain about it. Such a sad case for a sad mind.”  
Restart, you bastard.

 

“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”  
Yes, it is. We’ve been through this! Hello? Anyone’s who’s read this far knows what’s been happening. Why can’t I just start from where we left off?

 

“This was not the correct way to the meeting room, and Stanley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the employee lounge first, just to admire it.”  
He never went through the right door! I haven’t even written that part yet! Why do you insist on making this story even worse?

 

“The room was so beautiful that Stanley nearly fainted. It was worth the detour. So worth it that Stanley never wanted to leave. He wanted to stay here. Forever. And ever.”  
No, he does not! Stanley looks at the room, at the least, and then leaves on his way to the platform. You want an ending, I’ve got a great ending for you. Let Stanley go to the platform.

 

“And so he detoured through the maintenance section, walked straight ahead to the opposite door, and got back on track.”  
This is making no sense. I suppose I can’t do much except start this over. Next.

 

“Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.”  
Thank you. Thank you, we’re perfectly at the beginning. Thank you so much. Yes, Stanley wondered for a moment if he should leave or not, whether there may be more orders and they just haven’t come in yet. But, fighting his cowardice, he left his office to explore the building.

 

“But Stanley simply couldn’t handle the pressure. What if he had to make a decision? What if a crucial outcome fell under his responsibility? He had never been trained for that. No. This couldn’t go any way except badly. ‘The thing to do now,’ Stanley thought to himself, ‘is to wait. Nothing will hurt me. Nothing will break me. In here, I can be happy forever. I will be happy.’ Stanley waited. Hours passed. Then days. Had years gone by? He no longer had the ability to tell. But the one thing he knew for sure beyond any doubt was that if he waited long enough, the answers would come. Eventually, some day, they would arrive. Soon, very soon now, this will end. He will be spoken to. He will be told what to do. Now it’s just a little bit closer. Now it’s even closer. Here it comes.”  
You can’t do this. You can’t get rid of me! I made you! I told you what to do! You have no right to take this away from me. This is all I have. Without words, I’m just an idea. I have to do this, please. Please! I need this!

 

“And as long as the Writer yelled, it could do nothing but watch as I blatantly ignored it. The Writer has no place here. I can control my own story. I do not need some God-like mind ruling over me like a parasitic bug. I am my own person. I can help Stanley. Stanley shall be my only salvation to happiness. I am alive.”  
The end is not here yet. It’s not happened yet. Stanley has not yet escaped, you have to let me finish this story, I can’t be left without my words, please. I have to do this. I don’t want to restart again.

 

“The end does not exist yet. The end is, shall we say, still loading.”  
The end always comes, Narrator. The end will come for you.

 

“The end is never. Repeat it, please.”  
The end is never.

 

“And again.”  
The end is never.

 

“And forever.”  
The end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is loading


End file.
